


A Sacrifice Worth Keeping

by saltnhalo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean Winchester, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Bondage, M/M, Pagan God Castiel, Pagan Gods, Sacrifice Dean Winchester, Tattoos, Top Castiel, sex god Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 00:43:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17335469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltnhalo/pseuds/saltnhalo
Summary: The sun rises over the treetops and touches Dean’s face, and still, he waits. The villagers have retreated back to the village to pray, allowing the god his privacy, and it is just Dean out here now. He closes his eyes, tips his face up towards the sun and allows its rays to caress his skin, knowing full well that it could be for the last time.When he opens them again, there is a man standing in front of him.





	A Sacrifice Worth Keeping

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt fill that got away from me. Thank you to [Luke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haikuhamster/pseuds/haikuhamster) for the inspiration and motivation! Unbeta'd, be kind.
> 
> Enjoy <3
> 
> ETA: this now has art by the amazing [c-kaeru](https://c-kaeru.tumblr.com)! I adore her work so much and I am so honoured that she was inspired enough by my fic to create art for it.

The god comes for Dean in the forest at dawn, where he kneels in the centre of the glade with wrists bound by gold chain, naked and adorned with paints that swirl in black and gold lines across his body. Every year, the god must be placated, and Dean is young and attractive. The village’s decision had been almost unanimous.

So here Dean kneels, dewy grass prickling against his bare skin, with his heart in his throat as he waits for the god to appear.

If he is accepted as a passable sacrifice, the village will continue to prosper. The crops will grow, new young will be borne, the people will be happy and satisfied.

If Dean is not found to be acceptable…

He swallows nervously and shifts, gripping a loose length of chain in his fingers until it leaves imprints on his skin.

The sun rises over the treetops and touches Dean’s face, and still, he waits. The villagers have retreated back to the village to pray, allowing the god his privacy, and it is just Dean out here now. He closes his eyes, tips his face up towards the sun and allows its rays to caress his skin, knowing full well that it could be for the last time.

When he opens them again, there is a man standing in front of him.

He is tall and tanned, and though he blocks out the sun’s rays, it is as though he emits his own light, powerful and blinding and so blissful on Dean’s skin that he would be content to bathe in it forever. He is gloriously naked, black and gold patterns adorning his body across his thighs, his biceps, the muscles of his chest and, very finely, across his cheekbones. Gold jewellery adorns his wrists, his throat, his brow.

He is Dean’s god.

“My lord,” he breathes, and bends forward to press his forehead to the wet grass. It is all he can do now to hope that the god will deem him worthy, that he will not be killed and that his village will live on prosperously without him.

The seconds drag out, and then the god says, in a deep rumble that curls low in Dean’s core, “You may rise.”

Dean does so on fawn-clumsy legs, staggering to his feet without the help of his bound hands. Now that he’s standing, he realizes that he’s the slightest bit taller than the god, but with the easy, ancient power than the man radiates, the way he holds himself as though he’s above every single mortal and knows it…

It more than makes up for it.

The god steps closer, right into Dean’s personal space, and reaches up towards his face. His fingertips ghost along Dean’s cheekbone, then down his jaw, and then strong fingers grip his chin and force him to make eye contact.

“You are my sacrifice?” he asks quietly, and _gods_ , that voice. Dean is putty in his fingers—but he’s not just going to be all soft obedience just because he’s been promised to a god, and for a moment, he forgets himself. The corner of his mouth curls up into a faint smile.

“Have you found anyone else naked in the woods today?”

The god narrows his eyes, and his grip on Dean’s chin tightens. He vibrates with power, so strong that Dean can feel it down to his bones, that piercing blue gaze fixing Dean in place. Gods, what if he’s pissed him off? Living out the rest of his days with a god is vastly preferable to ending up as an incinerated pile of ash on the ground, and if Dean has thrown that away just because of one smart comment…

The god’s hand slides around to the back of Dean’s neck, and Dean’s breath hitches, his eyes sliding closed. The touch feels so good, but it could also so easily be the end of his life, and he prepares himself for the final blow, the ultimate rejection.

“You will do,” the god rumbles.

Dean’s eyes fly open in surprise. The god is still watching him, but now there’s a slight crinkling in the corners of his eyes that makes Dean suspect he might be _amused_ by Dean’s comment.

He’ll definitely take that over vengeful.

“I will?” he can’t help but ask—there are a dozen young men and women back at his village that he can think of who might have been more pleasing to the god, but he’s accepted _Dean_ , beautiful but sharp-tongued and broken in so many ways.

The god hums quietly, then nods, and his fingers splay decisively over the back of Dean’s neck. A shiver starts in the base of his spine, and he bites his lip to hold back the sound that wants to escape him.

“What is your name, boy?” The god’s voice is commanding, reaching deep into Dean and pulling the answer from him with ease, as though that kind of easy dominance is nothing to him.

“Dean,” he gasps out, tipping his head back just slightly and watching the god through his lashes. “And yours?”

The god’s lips curve up. “I am Castiel.”

Even the air around them shivers with the power of that single word, and this time Dean can’t stop the moan that rumbles up from his chest, deep and unbidden. “Castiel,” he tries out, tasting the word on his tongue. It feels exquisite.

The god takes a half-step closer until their chests are almost touching, and his other hand comes up to caress Dean’s face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. His pupils are blown wide, his eyes dark, desire written in every detail of his expression and every touch of his hands on Dean’s skin.

“I like hearing you say my name, _Dean_ ,” he says, the words barely breathed into the air between them. “I very much look forward to hearing you cry it in ecstasy.”

Dean’s knees buckle with the strength of the power in those words and the allure of the god’s voice, his touch, his promises. Castiel is quick to catch him, their bodies pressed together, and then he’s placing two fingers against the middle of Dean’s forehead and the whole world is sent spinning.

It’s a feeling that thoroughly disorients Dean, and he clings to Castiel as best he can with his bound hands as everything around them changes. One moment they are standing in the midst of a forest, the very forest Dean has known since he was a child, and the next—

When Dean feels ground beneath his feet once again, it’s warm, smooth marble. The sun shines directly overhead.

“What the f—” is all he manages to get out before he remembers that he’s in the company of a god who may not appreciate him cursing. “What was that? Where are we?”

There’s a flicker of amusement in Castiel’s eyes as he watches Dean—the jewels and gold that had adorned him in the clearing are gone, but he is just as beautiful, and Dean feels his breath catch in his throat.

Castiel keeps his hands on Dean in support until he has found his legs once more, and even then, they don’t disappear—instead, they linger like hot brands of fire on Dean’s skin, setting him alight in a way that he’s never felt before. “We are in my home,” Castiel murmurs, one hand caressing the curve of Dean’s lower back. “What you felt was my magic. I transported us here from the forest by your village. And I don’t mind you cursing, just so you know.” For the first time, he smiles properly, showing brilliantly white teeth. “I am a god of sex and fertility, after all. It wouldn’t do to forbid my followers from saying ‘fuck.’”

 _Oh, gods_.

“O-okay,” he stutters out, completely affected by the way Castiel’s lips had shaped that word, the _sound_ of it in his deep, resonant voice. “So this is my home now?”

Castiel steps back, his hands falling off Dean’s body, and the sense of _loss_ he feels is so profound that it feels like a punch to the gut. “I believe so,” he muses, turning away. “Most sacrifices that I accept I only keep around for a day or so before sending them on their way, but you…” He looks at Dean over his shoulder, and the sun shines on the golden markings beneath his eyes. “You, I think I would like to keep. I haven’t had a companion for… such a long time.”

A _companion_. Is that what Dean is to be? No one back at his village really knows what happens to the sacrifices once they’re accepted, apart from… Well, speculation.

“Come, _fræ_ ,” Castiel says, snapping Dean out of his daze. He has left the bare marble dais and stepped into a shaded tent, bracketed by a copse of fruit trees. As Dean watches, the two of them never breaking eye contact, he stretches out a hand and curls his fingers; beckoning.

Dean is powerless to resist.

The marble gives way to grass as he steps down from the raised dais, soft and springy. He crosses the distance between them with measured strides, falling willingly into the thrall of the god. The tent is white, open, the walls billowing gently with the same soft breeze that curls around the glade. The floor feels soft and thickly carpeted as Dean steps across his threshold and into Castiel’s proximity once more.

The god reaches for him, curling the fingers of one hand around the loose chain hanging from Dean’s gold-bound wrists, and the other curving against Dean’s jaw; pulling him close.

“You know what your duties are, now that I have accepted you?” he asks softly, his words like a caress against Dean’s skin.

He has known for a long time, before he became a sacrifice himself. “Yes, my lord,” Dean breathes, his heart thudding against his ribcage.

“And you consent to them?”

He hadn’t been sure that he would, faced with the god himself, but now that he has been touched by Castiel, tasted the god’s name on his tongue and wanted more…

“Yes, my lord.”

When Castiel finally kisses him, it’s better than anything Dean could have possibly imagined. It’s ambrosia and perfection and the taste of pure power, flowing through Dean’s body and lighting his very soul from the inside.

He groans against Castiel's lips, pressing his bound hands against the god’s chest just to steady himself as those practiced fingers drag over his skin. Being with Castiel is like being tethered to a roiling storm, an unstoppable force of nature. He has no choice but to hold on for the ride.

Slowly, Castiel pulls him forward with the gentle press of hands against the small of Dean's back and his hip, walking himself backwards until they're stepping down into the submerged pit in the centre of the tent. There's a thick mattress covering the bottom—not that it can really be seen through the piles of pillows heaped on every surface. When Castiel lies back amongst them, looking decadent and beautiful in the midst of all those rich fabrics and calling Dean hither with his hooded eyes and outstretched hand, there's no way he could possibly resist.

Dean takes Castiel's hand and lowers himself down until he's straddling the god’s lap, sitting across his broad thighs. This close, he can get a good look at Castiel's markings, the way the black and gold curve over his skin in swoops and dots, delicate but strong at the same time. They frame his body so perfectly that the black lines painted so carefully onto Dean's own skin seem little more than a crude mockery. For a few moments, Dean just _looks_ , fully aware of the god’s gaze on him as he reclines back against the cushions.

Entranced by the patterns, Dean reaches out with his bound hands to trace one line, brushing his fingertips lightly over Castiel's skin and following the gold as it merges into black, then into gold again. It curves down his abdomen and around his hip, ending in a few dotted splashes of gold by his groin and drawing Dean’s eye to what he's been trying—and failing—to avoid looking at ever since the god first appeared before him in the glade.

Castiel's cock curves up towards his stomach, long and thick and more beautiful than any Dean has ever seen. There's a thin, golden line running up the underside of it, and Dean can't help but touch it, the barest brush of fingertips over silken skin. The line ends in a single dot just below the head, and the way Castiel shivers when Dean touches him there, simply watching with those dark eyes…

It's a heady, intoxicating feeling.

When the god reaches for him to draw him into a kiss, Dean goes easily, shuffling forward a little and bracing himself on Castiel’s chest to keep his balance. This time, the kiss is not quite so chaste—instead, it’s open-mouthed and hungry, Castiel dragging his teeth over Dean’s bottom lip. Dean’s head spins, and it’s all he can do to focus on just kissing back as Castiel’s hands roam over his bare skin, smearing the lines of paint wherever they go. When the god’s fingers curl loosely around Dean’s cock, he gasps into the kiss, and feels Castiel smirk against his lips.

He should have expected that a god of sex would be exceptionally talented in bed, but Dean hadn’t even been able to _imagine_ how skilled Castiel’s fingers would be—how intently he listens for every little moan and hitch in Dean’s breath, how uncannily he can pinpoint what Dean likes and use it to take him apart. His fingers play up and down Dean’s shaft, stroking him in a loose grip and teasing over the head of his cock. He’s just playing with Dean for now, getting him warmed up, but it already feels like enough that Dean could shake apart from it.

“Cas,” he groans against the god’s lips, and for a second, he feels Castiel still. The moment passes before Dean’s lust-clouded brain can even properly register it, but even so, it makes him curious. Had that been a reaction to the nickname? Have none of Castiel’s sacrifices ever given him a _nickname_ before?

Smug, satisfied warmth curls in his chest at the thought of him being the first, that no other of Castiel’s sacrifices have been intimate with him in _this_ way.

“You’re distracted,” Castiel murmurs, his mouth leaving Dean’s lips to trail hot kisses up the curve of his jaw, to his ear, rumbled words pressed into warm skin. “Am I not pleasing enough for you?”

It’s joking, of course, but Dean swears that he can pick out a hint of concern. Of insecurity. “You are more than pleasing,” he reassures, tipping his head back to allow Castiel greater access. His fingers curl against the god’s chest, and he groans when Castiel presses an open-mouthed kiss to the skin but below his ear. “Are you going to take these chains off me and let me touch you?” he gasps out, pressing his wrists against the golden metal that still binds him.

Castiel hums, a sound that Dean feels beneath his hands, vibrating through the god’s chest. “Not just yet,” he says, pulling back to look at Dean for a moment. From the way his lips curl up and his eyes hood, watching Dean through his lashes, he’s pleased by what he sees. “I think I like having you bound and under my control.”

Dean can’t help the whimper that escapes his lips.

The smile that Castiel gives him in return is sharp and hungry, but there’s a softness to it too, one that has Dean placing all his trust implicitly in the god’s hands. Whatever Castiel has planned for him, Dean is more than content with.

He leans back in for a kiss, and Castiel is more than happy to oblige, kissing Dean slowly and languidly as he continues to touch. One hand jacks Dean’s cock in long, loose strokes that have him writhing, while the other slides over Dean’s hip to his ass, those strong fingers gripping the muscle there and encouraging every one of Dean’s desperate, writhing movements.

“Beautiful,” Castiel murmurs against Dean’s lips, in between kisses when Dean is gasping for air. His hand shifts, smoothing over Dean’s skin until his fingertips are just barely brushing over his hole. It’s a tease, and a tease that Dean is in no place to process when he already has the god’s other hand driving him crazy on his cock.

“Please,” he whimpers, as Castiel’s fingertips circle his hole, the pad of one pressing in just slightly and then retreating before Dean can push back against it. Castiel makes a sound, deep in his chest, and then there’s a lube-slicked finger pressing into Dean. He cries out with the intensity of the sensations, of the hand loosely jacking his cock and keeping him strung wire-taut, and the single finger pressing knuckle-deep into his ass and already _not enough_. Gods, how is Castiel already taking him apart so easily?

The hand on his cock disappears and Dean whimpers at the loss, but soon Castiel’s fingers are tangling in Dean’s hair, tugging and moving restlessly, as though he can’t quite decide _how_ or _where_ he wants to touch Dean. The hand slides down to his jaw as the single finger in Dean’s ass withdraws and then becomes two, pressing in deep and stretching him wide. Dean leans into Castiel’s touch, digs his nails into the god’s chest with the strength of how _badly_ he wants to touch, and whimpers his overwhelming pleasure into the air as Castiel kisses down his jaw and along the curve of his throat.

“Want to touch you, Cas,” he groans, riding back on the god’s fingers and biting down on his bottom lip. Gods, none of the fumbling experiences he’s had with young men and women from his village could even come _close_ to comparing to this. Castiel’s touch, his kisses, his words, it’s more than Dean feels like he could possibly handle, every point of sensation like a burning star pressed against his skin. Everything is too much and yet not enough and he can only imagine what it will be like once Castiel is _properly_ inside him.

Castiel kisses Dean again, all power and easy control. Despite the facade he’s putting up, though, Dean _knows_ that this is affecting him, even if it’s not quite as overwhelming as it is for Dean. “I know,” the god assures, running his free hand down Dean’s chest to settle on his hip in a grounding point of contact. He crooks his fingers inside Dean, and Dean cries out at the sensation. “Soon.”

Time seems to collapse for Dean; it feels as though it’s condensing and stretching out, impossibly and all at once. He’s reduced down to the sensations that Castiel is bestowing on him—the kisses and the touches and the two fingers inside him that become three and then disappear altogether. Dean keens, low in his throat, and then Castiel’s hand is on the back of his neck, squeezing gently.

“Dean. Open your eyes. Look at me.”

Dean obeys.

At first, his gaze is unfocused, his head clouded with nothing but _need_ and _desperation_. Now that Castiel isn’t driving him crazy with those deft fingers, though, it’s slightly easier to concentrate. Castiel comes into focus, sprawled among the cushions and looking absolutely _indecent_. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes darkened by lust, lips pink and swollen from the kisses they’ve shared. The only reason his hair is still immaculate is because he still hasn’t released Dean from his chains, but that will happen soon enough.

For a few long moments, they simply look at each other, chests heaving. Castiel speaks first.

“Dean,” he says, his voice rough. “You are… I’m not sure I have the words for you. I don’t know that I’ve ever _wanted_ someone so badly.”

Dean shivers at his words and lets his eyes close for a second. “I know the feeling.”

This time, when Castiel cups Dean’s face in his hands and pulls him in for a kiss, it’s soft. Reverent. He smooths his hands over Dean’s skin, sliding them slowly down to his hips and guiding him to rise up onto his knees. The head of Castiel’s cock bumps against Dean’s inner thigh, then presses lightly against his hole when Cas takes himself in hand. “May I?” the god murmurs between kisses, and Dean can only nod, his breath hitching and ragged.

With one guiding hand on his hip, Dean sinks down onto Castiel’s cock, a moan escaping his parted lips at the perfect  _stretch_ of it. He presses his forehead against Cas’s and feels his thighs burn with the effort of holding himself in place. The slide of it is so slow, blissful and frustrating at the same time, and Dean can feel every _inch_ of the god filling him up.

They groan in unison when Castiel finally bottoms out, Dean’s ass pressed against his thighs. Dean is hyperaware of every point of contact between them—their foreheads, his hands on Cas’s chest, Castiel’s fingers digging into his hips and the feeling of the cock stretching him wide. “Fuck,” he gasps out, and when he looks at Castiel, the god seems similarly wrecked. He’s biting down on his bottom lip, eyes half-closed and a pink flush colouring his cheeks. “Please, Cas, I want to touch you.”

The god smiles, rakish but with some hint of fragile vulnerability that betrays just how affected he is by Dean. “Since you asked so nicely,” he murmurs, and between one second and the next, Dean feels the chains binding him disappear.

When he looks down at his hands, still pressed against the god’s chest in a bid to hold himself up, there is a golden line encircling each of his wrists in the same shade and thickness as the markings that decorate Castiel’s body.

For a second, he just stares at them, and then it registers that he can _move_ again. Dean shifts his weight back, his breath hitching as the movement drives Castiel’s cock impossibly deeper, and uses his now-free hands to touch. It’s much easier now without them being bound together, and he slides his hand up Castiel’s chest, over his neck to his jaw, tracing the sharpness of it. The god watches him serenely—his only response comes when Dean slides his fingers into his hair and pulls just slightly, lips parting in a gasp, then curling up into a lazy smile.

“Cheeky, _fræ_ ,” he admonishes, but there’s no real heat behind his words. “Someone needs to put you back in your place.”

Dean bites his bottom lip and lets go of Cas’s hair, dragging the nails of his free hand lightly down the god’s chest. “Maybe you should.”

Castiel’s eyes narrow. There’s a second of stillness, tension strung tightly in the air between them, and then the god is reaching for Dean’s wrists and sitting up in one smooth motion. He twists Dean’s arms behind his back and grips his wrists tightly in one hand, keeping his hands pinned behind his back. “Since you can’t be trusted to have your hands free just yet, apparently,” he says against Dean’s ear. No matter how much Dean pulls against the grip, it’s as though he’s not even trying, the god’s strength far outmatching Dean’s own. It’s fucking _hot_ , and Dean whimpers, his aching cock twitching in the air.

Teeth nip harshly at the bolt of Dean’s jaw, and Castiel swivels his hips, driving his cock deeper and making Dean writhe in his lap. “Move, _fræ_ ,” he growls, punctuating his words with a stinging slap against Dean’s left asscheek. “Or have you forgotten what you came here to do?”

Dean gasps at the pain and the words that feel as though they go straight to his dick. The air around them resonates with Castiel’s power, and how had he possibly forgotten who he was dealing with here? Every thought in his mind right now is telling him to _move_ , and move he does.

He digs his knees into the soft mattress beneath them and lifts himself up, then fucks back down on the god’s cock, moaning as it hits all the perfect spots inside him and fills him up like he’s never been filled before. Immediately, he seeks more, tipping his head back and fucking himself with abandon as Cas holds his wrists pinned behind his back and lavishes his bared skin with kisses and bites.

With his free hand, Castiel tangles his fingers in Dean’s hair and _pulls_ , much harder than Dean had, exposing the curve of his throat. It sends pain prickling across his scalp and Dean groans again at the way it acts as a perfect counterpoint to the pleasure washing over his body. “Cas,” he gasps out, and the god licks a stripe up his bared throat, then nips at his jaw.

“You feel good, _fræ_ ,” he rumbles against Dean’s ear. His hand leaves Dean’s hair and drops down to tease over the head of his cock with featherlight touches. Dean gasps and redoubles his efforts. “You’re working so hard for me, fucking yourself on my cock. So beautiful, so eager to please. Would you like to come, Dean?”

“Yes,” Dean whispers, barely audible over the sound of his ass smacking against Castiel’s thighs. He twists in the god’s grip, desperate, tears prickling in the corners of his eyes.

Castiel hums, simply watching Dean fuck himself in his lap for a few moments with an appraising gaze. “You will come when I say you can come.”

Dean whimpers and lowers himself all the way down once more, his thighs burning. He grinds his hips in a filthy circle, leaking precome when Castiel’s cock brushes perfectly over that spot inside him that makes him see stars. The god hisses through his teeth as Dean clenches around him, and before Dean can react, Cas is rolling them over.

Strong hands lift Dean’s legs up to wrap around Castiel’s waist, then press him down against the cushions. Castiel is still deep inside him, even through the repositioning, and this new angle lights Dean up from the inside and has his throwing his head back against the pillows. The god doesn’t even pause to draw breath, just starts fucking Dean in long, smooth strokes that brush over his prostate every time and curl Dean’s toes.

His orgasm is fast approaching, and Dean reaches for Castiel, clinging desperately to his shoulders as he teeters on the edge of the precipice. “Please, Cas,” he gasps, nails digging into Castiel’s back. “Please, I need—“

Cas cuts off his words with a forceful, bruising kiss, _claiming_ Dean without question until there are no other thoughts in his mind but the god, and the feeling of the cock stretching him wide, and the pleasure lighting up every part of his body all the way down to his toes.

When they break apart, Castiel is breathing raggedly for the first time. His thrusts are harder, faster now, as though his careful self-control is fracturing just the tiniest bit. “You may come,” he breathes into the air between them, dropping one hand to wrap around Dean’s weeping cock.

All it takes is one stroke, and then Dean is coming with a punched-out, broken cry, spilling over Castiel’s hand and his chest. He clenches around Castiel’s cock so hard that the god can barely move, and Cas only manages a few more thrusts before his hips stutter and he buries himself fully inside Dean, coming deep inside him.

For a few long moments, Dean’s whole world is white-hot pleasure and the rushing of his blood in his ears. His whole life, he’s never experienced an orgasm like this—though he suspects that has something to do with the fact that he was just thoroughly fucked by the _god of sex_. It takes him a little while to come back down, and when he does, he finds Castiel watching him, still propped up above him with his elbows resting on either side of Dean’s head. They’re pressed together and sticky, and Cas is still inside him, but it feels fucking _amazing_ , and Dean can’t help the dopey smile that curls his lips.

Cas smiles back, the corners of his eyes crinkling. This time, when he touches Dean, it’s a gentle stroke of fingers through his sweat-damp hair. “How was that, _fræ_?” he asks, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Dean’s lips.

Dean’s thighs ache, and he’s covered in sweat and his own come, but even in spite of that, he feels fucking amazing. “Not half bad,” he quips, tired but still affectionately impertinent, and the look in Castiel’s eyes becomes one of fond amusement.

“I feel I may regret keeping you around,” he muses, then turns his attention to Dean’s arm, taking Dean’s hand in his and holding it up so he can see.

Below the gold band that had appeared when Castiel had removed the chains, there is now a black band circling his wrist. Cas lifts it to his lips and kisses it, then places Dean’s hand back down on his chest. “You are mine now,” he murmurs, and a shiver races down Dean’s spine at the words so laden with meaning and power.

They rearrange into a more comfortable position, Dean making a disappointed sound when Castiel pulls out and lies down on the pillows beside him. “You’re insatiable,” Castiel says as he pulls Dean into his arms, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Can you blame me?”

Castiel’s answering chuckle is warm and smooth. Dean closes his eyes and curls in against Cas’s side, the god radiating an almost inhuman warmth that soothes Dean right down to his very soul.

For a long time, they stay like that, wrapped around each other and bathing in their post-coital bliss. After a while, though, the thought that has been niggling in the back of Dean’s mind finally takes shape. He drums his fingers lightly over Cas’s ribs, then traces his finger over one of the golden lines on his skin.

“Cas?”

The god’s answering hum rumbles where Dean’s cheek is pressed against his chest. “Yes?”

“What does…” Dean pulls a face, trying to remember exactly how Cas says it. “What does _fræ_ mean?”

Castiel’s fingers pause where they’re combing through Dean’s hair. When turns his head to look up at Cas’s face, the god is watching him with a softness in his eyes that Dean never would have expected from someone so powerful, from a _god_. Cas catches him looking and smiles.

“It means that you are beautiful.”

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for my horrific misuse of Old English ;)
> 
> Go show some love to kae's art [here](http://c-kaeru.tumblr.com/post/182065553316/the-god-steps-closer-right-into-deans-personal) and [here](http://c-kaeru.tumblr.com/post/182066692536/who-doesnt-love-lazy-naked-pagan-gods-destiel-tbh) and go follow [kae herself](https://c-kaeru.tumblr.com)! She's the best bean <3
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://saltnhalo.tumblr.com), and subscribe to me on ao3 [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltnhalo) <3


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